Here, with your kind permission, is where I will be posting updates on a fictional series wherein I have cast Nicolas Cage as the lead character. These books would be defined as thrillers and in some cases might be considered somewhat graphic regarding violence and language.

Currently, there are four novels to this series, and that is subject to change. So far, I have completed two of the novels and they are currently going under the knife of my editor. 

It is my hope to present a few excerpts from the novels here for your consideration, progress reports, release dates, and answer any questions you might have regarding the series.

Here is the only place that I will disclose who I envisioned as the characters in these books and these will be in features only. Coloring, heights, personality traits et al are part of the characters, so No, I do not perceive Nicolas Cage as a 6'4" gangly Italian nightclub singer with raven hair and hazel eyes, that's who Al is. Al is his own person and  just happens to look like Nicolas Cage in the face.  Think of Al as a role for Nick.

That said, meet Alessio (Al) Magarelli, a 32 year old soft spoken creative type who makes his living singing cover tunes of such performers as Sinatra, Conick Jr, Como, Martin, and other blues and jazz singers. On stage, at his piano, he's in his element. Off stage, Al is an unassuming, sweetheart of a guy trying to carve out his niche in the entertainment industry by writing his own original music -- something that is eluding him as we enter the first book. He's a bit of a work-aholic and focused on getting that first song written, hence his personal life has taken a substantial hit in the romance department. His relationships outside of coworkers, family and neighbors number zero. Music is everything to Al. With his fine tenor voice and his accomplished piano playing; well loved by his corworkers and customers, he's set for life. This is a man who's comparatively quiet life is about to go to Hell in a hand basket. Here is where the narrator would say "Alessio Magarelli, you just won a one-way ticket to...The Twilight Zone."

Father Antoni Magarelli (Toni), 29, Al's younger brother and a Catholic Priest. He and Al are very close.  I pictured Steve Carell.

 DeDe (pronoucned DayDay) Jakande, is a Cultrual Anthropologist from Zimbabwe, South Africa. She is intelligent and very strong willed. She was in the states to set up and represent a display pertaining to the excavation of the ruins of an ancient city found in that area. For her I pictured a younger Angela Basset. 

Relevance: Jazz singer and entertainer Al Magarelli's live is thrown into turmoil when -- after injuries sustained during an earthquake --he wakes to find he has visions, devastating visions of the destruction of his home town, Chicago, by natural disaster. Each vision escalates and no one will listen to him as he tries desperately to warn people in an attempt to save lives. As each vision takes a terrible toll on him both physically and mentally, one person stands by his side through it all. DeDe Jakande.

Enjoy, if you will, the first two chapters.

RELEVANCE

by PJ Morvant-Alexander

Relevance: [rel-uh-vuhns] noun the condition of being relevant,  or connected with the matter at hand

CHAPTER ONE

Smoke curled up lazily from a short butt in the over-full ashtray adding to an already lingering haze in the semi-lit room.

Somber hazel eyes turned and regarded it. Gonna be the death of me. Al Magarelli thought and snuffed it out with a heavy sigh.  Gonna mess up the pipes.

Al rose from his seat at the upright piano, crossed to the far wall and pulled up the shade of his sidewalk level window. Bright early-morning sun blazed into the room, causing him to flinch. He went from room to room and raised the windows of his garden apartment to let the stale air out of the place. As an afterthought he flicked on his dual fan to pull fresh air in. He was just opening the last window in the living room as a pair of familiar, elderly feet shuffled by.

“Good morning, Mrs. Giandelone.” He called out. “Been feeding the pigeons?”

“Boungiorno, Alessio. Stop smoking those cigarettes. They gonna ruin your voice,” her raspy voice responded. 

“Si, Mrs. Giandelone, I will.”

“You better. I gonna tell your mamma if you don’t.” 

“Please don’t do that Mrs. Giandelone,” Al laughed. No, don’t tell mamma. She’ll never let me forget about it!

“Smells like burnt socks comin’ outa there!”  the old woman continued on her way.

Turning away from the window, Al looked at his rumpled living room. He’d been at it all night, as he had many nights before, and still he hadn’t come up with an idea for a new song.  Running a hand through his close cropped raven hair, he gave another ponderous sigh -- as though the weight of the world was upon him. In a sense it was. He was a singer in one of Chicago’s lesser known, but very successful dinner clubs. It was a great place, though, with a loyal and regular clientele. He sang cover songs mostly: Martin, Sinatra, with some Como thrown in or duets with the club’s chanteuse, Connie Denari. But still covers. Nothing original.

THAT was the issue. He wanted to write something original, record maybe, but for sure write. No matter how hard he tried, nothing seemed to come to him that didn’t sound like a million songs already out there. Two years. Two years he’d been trying to come up with a definitive sound. He was 32 and, apparently, the only talent he seemed to have at this point was to sing other people’s music and  identify people by their ankles.

He grabbed the trash can by his piano. He emptied his ashtrays into it and , after a little straightening up, he felt a shower was in order. A shower would clear his head.  He was a night person. Any hope of writing fled when the sun came up. Apparently in addition to being lazy, his muse was also a vampire. So he would have a shower and something to eat -- maybe catch a few hours of sleep before it was time to head to work. 

*   *   *   *   *

Al lifted his sleeping mask and looked at the clock by his bedside. 12:30 PM. He’d been trying for two hours to get to sleep but that too seemed to be evading him today. “Okay.” He sighed resignedly, “not going to happen.”  

Just as he sat up and swung his long legs over the edge of the bed, his cell phone began to sing My Way in Sinatra‘s voice. He grabbed it and flipped it open. “Hello,” he said with a cough.

“Alessio? Did I wake you?” came the voice of his younger brother, Father Antoni.

Both Antoni and Alessio had been choir boys at Our Lady of Pompeii in Chicago’s Little Italy. Toni had moved up to Altar Boy while Al’s angelic voice had become the pride of the choir. Al had moved into the adult at choir at 16,  after his voice changed to a clear tenor. Then, as Mamma had hoped, Toni, three years his junior, went into Seminary and became Father Toni. 

Every Italian family hopes one or more of their children will get the calling. Toni fulfilled that hope. But Al went off to L.A. to study music in college where he fell in love with jazz and stage tunes. Consequently he eventually moved away from the church and got the calling to sing in what mamma called ‘speak easies’.

“Al?”

“Oh yeah, hi…no, you didn’t wake me. How are you?”

“I’m fine. The question is how are you, Fratello?”

“I’m good. Still trying to write a song and get my Grammy moment.”

“Any luck?”

“Not a bit.”

“Then I will pray.”

“I’ll take any help I can get. God listens to you, Toni. I think he’s mad at me.”

“No, God isn’t mad at you. You’re a good man, Alessio. Just a little removed from the Church. But God is everywhere so he always sees. He wants you to work hard. Music is hard work. Honest work.”

“Tell Mamma that,” Al chuckled.

“I do.  Every time I see her.”

“Thanks…say, what can I do for you?”

“It’s what I can do for you,” Toni replied. “When was the last time you were out … other than going to work.” He had anticipated Al’s average ‘every day’ response.

“Been a while,” Al admitted. “Why?”

“I have to go over to the Field Museum to set up a class outing for my kids. My driver cancelled,  I was hoping you would drive me.”

“Ohhhh I’m not very big on museums, Toni.”

“You wouldn’t drive your only brother,  a priest of our Savior, to an important meeting?! What will God say?”

Al smiled. He loved his brother. Toni was the best. “So…you think God will take notice and pop a tune into my head if I take you to the Museum. Is that it?”

“ God moves in mysterious ways. Besides I have it on the best authority his son loved music.”

“Well then, how can I say no to a father and son act like that. How soon do you need me to pick you up?”

“As soon as you can?”

“I’m on my way.”

Snapping the phone shut, Al went to his closet and rummaged out a shirt and slacks. He chose a gray shirt. He wasn’t completely in mourning for his dying muse, so no black. Besides black was Antoni’s color. Gray was perfect for him. Dull and uninteresting. Perfect.

He threw his bed together and plopped down to put on his socks. He hadn’t seen his brother in a couple of weeks. Both of them had odd schedules. He was asleep when Toni was out and about and Toni was asleep when he was doing his job.

Usually they got to see each other every Sunday at Mamma’s when the family got together for supper. But last Sunday -- and much to mamma’s dismay -- Al had begged off because he was going over cues with the new light guy. 

So okay, he had to go to a museum. Worth it to have some time with his bro. All set, he grabbed his keys, a fresh pack of smokes and was out the door.

CHAPTER TWO

Al pulled his black 2010 Fiat Grande up in front of the school just as Father Toni was coming out the large metal double doors.

He watched the children as they clung to Toni’s coat and how his brother lovingly disengaged them with gentle reprimands. The kids loved Father Toni. He was kind and funny, always animated, always patient no matter how demanding they were. 

Al smiled inwardly. With all the ugliness in the church regarding misused and ill treated children, their parish was a blessing -- the shining beacon if Little Italy. One of the glowing lights in that beacon was this perpetually joyful man.  

His brother was truly loved. And he returned that love with amazing sermons of hope in difficult times. After the one he gave for the fallen soldiers there was not a single dry eye in the church. Yes, Father Toni was the real deal. Happy and devout in his faith, gentle and generous with a heart as big as the sky.

“Hey Toni!” He called when the priest was within earshot. “I haven’t got enough room for all those kids!”

“One moment,” Toni said as he reached the car. He turned to the remaining children who’d followed him. “If you don’t let me go, I won’t be able to set up the school trip.”

“Are we gonna see dinosaurs again?” One smaller boy asked.

“Are we gonna see the room with all the diamonds?” Another inquired.

“No, this time we’re going to ancient Africa,” the father told them. 

“Are we going to see the lions of Tsavo, Father?” A teen asked.

“It’s true, they are there and, if we have time, we will. But let me go so I can talk to Dr. Jakande, we’ll see if we can include the African hall of animals in the tour.” to the older teen he said, “Dante, see that the little ones get back to their classes.”

“Yes Father.”

“When I come back I will have news. Sia bene, bambini.”

When he was finally in the car, Al laughed. “Man, those kids are sure crazy about you.”

“They’re good kids. We’re blessed. You look good, Alessio! A little thin maybe, but good.”

“ You sound like mamma. Eat! Eat! You’re too thin!” Al pulled the Fiat away fromt he curb.

“She says that to me too. If she had her way we’d all look like  Uncle Davide and our socks wouldn’t match. Andiamo!”

*   *   *   *   *

The drive to the museum was fairly uneventful but heavily trafficked which was quite usual for Chicago any time of the day. Only twice did Al have to yell at another driver. “AY! Voi trattore a cingoli! Esca del mio senso! Tartaruga!”

“Your Italian is still very good, Alessio.”

“It does sound pretty good, doesn’t it?”

“It’s amazing how you can sound so angry…when all you are doing is calling them a caterpillar and a turtle.”

“Gotta love Italian,” Al said around a cigarette -- his third during the trip.

Father Antoni made a face. “Don’t you worry about damaging your throat? How can you sing so beautifully?”

“Maybe it’ll give my voice some character…maybe I sound too smooth. It worked for Tom Waits.” Al sang  a few lines from the song Make it Rain doing his best imitation of Tom. When he was done, Al coughed and said dramatically, “Man, I think I hurt myself.”

“No…there’s a person who sings like that?”

“Yeah, Irish guy. He’s real popular, too. And he‘s got two Grammies! TWO!”

“I’m sorry Alessio, that sounded as if you had gargled with glass.”

Al laughed and turned into the parking lot for the museum. Then, waiting for a line of children to cross to their bus, he glanced at his brother. “They look like little ducks following their mamma.”

“They do, exactly like little ducks -- who have just learned more about the world they live in,” Father Toni waved to the little ones. “When are you going to give mamma some grand kids?”

Al parked the car in a shady spot at the end of the lot, near the trees that lined Lake Shore Drive and leaned back in the seat. “Well now, you see there’s just one little problem with that.”

“And that is?”

“According to Sister Mary Joan Marie’s biology class, it takes TWO consenting adults of the opposite sex to make babies. I am conspicuously ONE. Painfully singular.”

“We gotta find you a wife,” Toni said in a scratchy falsetto voice.

“You have got mamma  DOWN!” Al shook his head. “The next thing you know you’ll be setting me up with some lady with a mustache. Go on! Get out of my car!”

“Come in with me.”

“I’ll wait out here.”

“I want you to meet my friend, Dr. Jakande.”

“No, it smells weird in there.”

“Come on, Alee, be a good boy! You smella you uppa lip.”

“Oh now you’re doing Papa. Is there no end to your talent?  Maybe YOU should take a shot at writing a song.” He looked over his sunglasses at his brother patiently standing by his door. “You‘re not going to leave me alone, are you?” 

Father Toni folded his hands against his stomach and shook his head gravely.

Reluctantly Al got out of the car; at 6’4” he literally towered over his shorter brother who just squeaked in at 5’8” mark.  “You make me crazy, you know that?”

*   *   *   *

As they entered the Museum, Al put his sunglasses in his jacket pocket and straightened his collar wishing he‘d brought a tie. He ran his hands over his hair --  not much there to be messed up -- his Jerry Lewis cut Mamma called it.  Places like this always made him feel like he was in school. Two major rules:  look nice, be respectful.

They walked down the stairs to the Egyptian section, then further back where they were prepping  a new area called Ancient Zimbabwe. 

Toni smiled and waved towards a side door. Al prepared to greet the chubby, bespectacled, silver-bearded man that stood there, but Toni walked past him to a small young black woman, in a very becoming yellow dress, standing by a display that was being set up.

“DeDe! How are you?”

“Father Antoni! How good to see you,” the young woman said in a rich accented voice. “Who is this with you?”

“This is my brother Alessio Magarelli. Alessio, this is Dr. DeDe Jakande. She’s here from Zimbabwe overseeing the new exhibit.”

“Hi, and it’s Al, Dr. Jakande” he said gently shaking her offered hand. 

“And so then, it is DeDe. So nice to meet you.” She turned back to the priest. “I thought you must have forgotten.”

“Not at all! The gentleman who was going to give me a ride had to cancel. I was lucky my brother could fill in on such short notice. Didn’t you get my message?”

“But no!” She pulled out her cell phone and looked at it. “Oh! The battery. So busy, I forgot to put it on the charger last night.”

“Am I too late? Have you eaten?” Toni asked.

“No and I am famished! I became too absorbed in the display.” As if to verify her statement, her stomach growled. “Ah, there, the lion is awake.”

“Say, I noticed a catering truck out front by the marina when we pulled in, he may still be there,” Al offered.

“Oh I love those hot dogs,” DeDe said happily. “That vendor knows me quite well. Let me get my bag.”

As she hurried away to the office area, Al leaned in close to Toni. “Pretty lady, I like the little mini braid thing she has going on with her hair,” he said sotto voce.

“Very pretty and very smart.” Toni agreed. “ I met her when I was here last week to inquire about a tour. We struck up a conversation about her exhibit. We talked for quite a while. We’re setting up my class to be her first tour. She has some wonderful ideas for activities for the children. Her stories of her country are fascinating.”

“I thought you were going to introduce me to that guy over there…” Al pointed.

“Professor Haversen? No he’s not happy unless he’s surrounded by old bones. We had a tour with him last year. Sweet old fellow, but bored the children to death.”

“So you have a school trip here every year?”

“Several.”

“You let them see dinosaurs and cavemen?” 

“Of course we do, and mummies, oh they love the mummies. The next best thing to zombies, dood.”

The brothers enjoyed a good laugh. Then, upon hearing the clip of heels echoing down the hall, they looked up to see Dr. Jakande approaching with a warm smile.

“What is so funny?”

Father Toni pointed to the Professor. “Remember I told you about last year’s class tour?”

“Ah yes.” DeDe chuckled . “Shall we go then?”

The Autumn day was quite beautiful outside. After the subdued light of the museum, the trio squinted in the brightness of the early afternoon sun.

As they crossed Lake Shore Drive through the underpass, Dr. Jakande looked up at Al. “What is it you do, Al?”

“I’m an entertainer, I sing and play at a local dinner club,” he replied.

“What kind of music, if I may ask?”

“Smooth Jazz, torch songs, love songs, show tunes, blues…” 

“Ah. Like Mr. Connick, Jr?”

“Yes, very much like that.”

“Your instrument, then, must be the piano?”

“Yes it is.”

“I thought so. You have expressive hands, long fingers. You have the hands of a piano player.”

Al looked at his hands, “Yes, I guess I do.” Al had been playing since he was a little boy. He considered a career as a concert pianist but he didn’t want to wind up having to be far from home. 

“Alessio always had an affinity for the piano. Started playing when he was five. Our mother was very adamant about us having music in our lives.” Toni offered.

“Music is the expression of the soul,” DeDe said. “Do you write music as well, Al?”

“I’ve been doing mostly cover songs. That’s songs by other artists,” he explained. “But I’ve been working on writing my own music.”

“While I am here, I will have to come and hear you perform.”

“Anytime. Let me know and I’ll reserve a table for you.” Al liked this little woman. She had an easy manner about her. A confidence in the way she carried herself.

They exited the underpass and crossed to the catering truck.

“Hey Doc, yer lookin’ nice today, how’s yer zibbit comin’? Dah usual?” The vendor called out.

“Thank you. Yes, Daniel, if you would be so kind.”

“Double Chicago dahgs comin’ up. What about you, Padre and you, Stretch?” He looked at the guys.

“That sounds good to me,” Father Toni agreed.

“No peppers on mine,” Al nodded, “…and mustard. Lots of mustard.”

*   *   *   *   *

They sat on a park bench facing the marina, enjoying their dogs. Al listened as Toni and DeDe plotted out the tour. What he thought would be boring was not so at all. The African Doctorre spoke with enthusiasm and passion about her plans for the kids. And in spite of that enthusiasm, she remained graceful in every movement. She had said he had expressive hands. If his were expressive, hers were art personified. She was, in all ways, beautiful. Though braided into many tiny braids, her hair was then pulled back into a thick ponytail at the base of her skull.

Her laughter was soft and mellow, not high pitched or giggly. Her deep bronze skin caught the afternoon sun and glowed with vitality.  Her eyes were the most bewitching color, not so much brown as golden. He’d always been a people watcher, and she was amazing to watch.

“…don’t you think so, Al?” she said breaking his reverie.

“I’m sorry?”

“The children, they should be entertained,” she said.

“Sounds like you have a great day planned out for them. Don’t think anyone will fall asleep on your tour.” He looked at the cup of coke in his hands. “You really like kids, don’t you?”

“The children are our future. They should be exposed to customs that differ from their own. To a world beyond what they know. This promotes understanding and curiosity. It dispels doubt and fear. From this, strong bonds are made across the world.”

“Music is kinda the same…I mean it’s a universal language,” the singer pointed out.

“Exactly!” 

“I’d really like to hear some music from your country sometime.”

“I have some CDs in my office, I would love to lend them to you, would you like that?”

“Yeah I would! That’d be great! I can get them back to you when you come to the show.”

“Perfect,” DeDe laughed. “So tell me more of this place where you work.”

*

Toni watched all this with a happy smile. Bringing Al today was a good thing. He’d had no idea these two would hit it off like this. Al was so focused on his music he’d let his social life fall to the wayside for years.  Toni could tell that his brother was taken with DeDe, the best thing was the feeling seemed to be mutual. He hadn’t seen his brother this animated in quite a long time. Usually Al seemed quiet, almost worn and often sad. Right now he was smiling and alive. 

*

Suddenly DeDe’s cup -- which had been on the seat beside her -- jiggled and tipped over. Almost simultaneously several car alarms went off.

“Well, what…” she started, getting up quickly to avoid a stain on her dress.

Then there was another trembling of the ground. Hundreds of Pigeons took flight as more car alarms were activated.

“That was a tremor!” Al said as he stood looking around. “Did you feel that Toni?”

“Yes, I did.”

Tossing her trash into the can, DeDe looked at them alarmed. “The exhibit!” She cried and took off for the museum.

“Not the underpass!” Al called out. “Not with tremors!” He and Toni helped her over the barrier and held their hands out to stop traffic as they ran across Lake Shore Drive. Luckily the cars had slowed, drivers no doubt unsure because of the tremor.

They ran up the steps past alarmed patrons picking up things they’d dropped when the steps shook. Once inside they hurried down the stairway towards the area where the new exhibit was going up.  They had just gotten to the Egyptian hall when one of the glass cases shattered and the floor lurched under their feet.

“Oh!” DeDe cried. “What is happening?!”

“Earthquake! This is a full blown earthquake!” Having spent seversl years in L.A. at college, and having been through several quakes there, Al yelled, “get in a doorway!”

Displays began to shatter as Al turned in a full circle staring in disbelief. Heavy glass shards flew in all directions. This kind of thing just didn’t happen in Chicago. He saw Toni try to steady DeDe , then his gaze went to the pillar next to them, it was cracking, it was about to….

“LOOKOUT!” he cried and lunged at them to push them aside. He caught DeDe’s arm and took her down with him as he fell, covering her body with his own to protect her from the debris falling all around them.

Something heavy fell near them, the pillar…then something struck his head and everything went dark.

*   *   *   *   *

Vague light.

Air thick with dust. People were crying out.

Alarms…so much noise and yet seeming so far away.

DeDe kneeling over him, her face was smeared with dirt, her eyes wide and frightened.

“Al! Al can you hear me?”

He vaguely felt the floor beneath him move again.

“Al!”

“Oh my God, Father Antoni!”

There was a  roar of sound and pain then everything went white.